


Thou Proud Dream

by Rubynye



Series: Works in StoatSandwich's 4F Universe (aka, the Adventures of Steve Rogers, Military Prostitute) [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, I will probably add more tags, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roleplay, Rough Sex, i could use suggestions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man climbs through Steve's window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Proud Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts), [thefilthiestpiglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/gifts), [dsudis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



> I have an unofficial tradition of posting something dark and sticky around Halloween. So.

_Brooklyn, 1949_

Steve is asleep when a broad hand clamps over his mouth. He thrashes awake, jabbing his elbow into the muscular arm over him, kicking his heels backwards in search of targets, adrenaline shoving out sluggishness as his heart races a mile a minute. He knows the drill: he should get loose, get his bearings, assess the situation... but the intruder just laughs in his ear, low and menacing, twisting a fist in the back of Steve's pajama top until the cloth creaks, dragged taut across his chest.

Steve tries to bite the fingers muffling his mouth, yanks on the wrist pressed to his cheek; a thick thigh lands heavy across his hip, a booted foot presses down his ankle, already he's almost fully covered. His assailant clamps his mouth shut with two inhumanly strong fingers beneath his chin and drags him back by his top, the buttons denting his skin as they tilt sideways in their straining holes. Struggling to think past the adrenaline rush roaring in his ears, Steve makes himself stop trying to land a hit; he can fight as much as he wants, but he'd rather fight smart. Instead he rakes his fingers down his own chest, bursting his top open. It drags on his arms but now he can duck and twist into the breathing space, shrugging out of the loose sleeves as he shoves away, twisting to confront his assailant. "Who the Hell--"

The broad hand lands heavy between his shoulder blades, slamming him facedown into the mattress as the knee bears down on the backs of his thighs. "Who's not important," growls the intruder, voice gravelly and distorted, waking a writhing clump of emotions in Steve's belly. "What matters is what I'm gonna do to you now I've caught you."

"Haven't caught me," Steve insists, kicking his heels against the intruder's thigh, hitting only a thick trouser-leg over hard muscles. It seems like he's not making a dent, but he's gotta try, he wouldn't be himself otherwise. He wants to clutch at the hand pressing down his back, precisely this side of pressing the air out of him, but he makes himself grip handfuls of sheet and mattress instead, pulling sideways as hard as he can until he slides a little beneath the implacable weight. "Get off me now and I might let you go." 

His assailant laughs hard enough to vibrate down the restraining arm. "Ain't you feisty," he rumbles, and Steve's cheek heats against the tight weave of bed sheet, his rushing blood burns beneath his skin.

He keeps pulling, and keeps pushing. "Get offa me and I'll show you feisty." The answer is a heavy stroke up his back, that hand clamping down on the nape of his neck, pinning him to the mattress. "Or you afraid of a fair fight?" All Steve can see at the edge of his vision is is a powerful arm and a solid dark-clad form over him. All he can do is let loose and fight as hard as he possibly can.

All he gets for his defiance is more low laughter. "Why would I wanna bust up such a pretty face?" The hand slides up Steve's skull, leaving prickling hairs in its wake as two fingers reach out to stroke his cheek, raising chill gooseflesh all over his skin. 

_Pretty_ , in that dark greedy tone, reminds Steve of other heavy hands and lustful voices, driving him to thrash harder, to keep struggling. "Not gonna just flop down for you," he growls as deep as he can and disregards the amused noise he gets in answer, concentrating on figuring out the best angle to shift into and not how vulnerable he feels with this intruder at his bare back. "Might as well leave now, get to keep everything you came with."

"Takin' what I came for," puffs humid through his hair. Steve tosses his head up, angled to crack a nose or something, but the intruder ducks away chuckling, leaning more weight onto the backs of Steve's thighs, pressing flesh against bone so Steve has to stifle a gasp between his teeth, under the searingly sweet ache.

The hand on his ass knocks that gasp free. "Stop!" Steve snaps as fingers grip his waistband and pull. "Hey, you deaf? Leave it alone!" His pajama pants slide down, hauling his shorts with them as he's peeled like a banana, baring him to the knees, to an unseen gaze, to a greedy wolf-whistle that raises fire along his ears and cheeks.

The assailant tugs Steve's pants under his knee without ever letting up, and his possessive touch, splayed fingers sliding down the small of Steve's back to engulf his asscheek, sends another burst of adrenaline boiling through Steve's blood. He can't hit or punch or kick, his only options are to sass and get laughed at, or hang on and wait for a chance. Reminding himself that strategy isn't surrender, Steve grits his teeth, digging his fingers into the sheet-covered mattress, keeping quiet as intrusive fingers probe and squeeze and part his ass.

"What's this?" he hears in that low amused voice, as two fingers slide down his crack and over his clenched hole. "All greased up and nowhere to go?" Steve presses his cheek against the bed and clings to his silence, clamping down on shudders as those fingertips circle tight-crinkled flesh over and over. "Who's been climbin' in your window before me?" The impertinet question brings Cal to mind, calm and smiling across their lunch today, and Steve really doesn't understand his own head sometimes. "Cattin' around with the whole neighborhood?" is even more ridiculous than the urge to defend himself, so Steve keeps quiet, keeps his breathing steady, keeps hold of himself. 

It's obviously coming, but those fingers shoving into him, fast and deep as they can go, feels like a gut-punch, still drives out a gasp that slams behind his clenched teeth. "What?" asks the man over him, watching him, inside him. "Nothing to say?" as those fingers twist and Steve shudders around the next stifled noise. "After all that mouthin' off?" The fingers tug out, stroking roughly from his hole to his tight-drawn-up balls and back again, and sTeve's breath rasps just as harshly through his nose. "Mmm, the silent treatment," in a deep purr as those fingers jab into Steve again, pushing apart, wedging him open. "I know how to get that over with."

The fingers twist out, but it's no reprieve when a broad knee shoves into Steve's thigh, wedging his legs apart. The other knee unpins his calves, but splayed out around the intruder's thighs like this, still pinned down at the nape, Steve's not getting anywhere. A zipper snarls open, the sound ripples up his spine, the slick noise of a greasy hand sliding on a hard dick raises prickling goosebumps across his exposed back. There's only one way this is going. Steve flushes hot and cold all over in anticipation.

The first nudge reverberates through him like a slap, but he stays silent. A low groan over him, a forceful thrust, and he's filled searingly, too roughly, too fast, aching to his core. He gasps despite everything, and only hard-earned experience reminds him not to bite his lip. A long drag out and a pleased huff, and Steve tenses as fiercely as he can, all over, digging his fingers into the mattress, clutching at it with his dangling toes. But the next thrust plunges even deeper, heavy balls smacking his ass deliberately as a hand, and his next gasp's edged with a cry.

"There you go," he hears, the voice softening, warming, rousing every shred of defiance Steve owns, every flickering spark of want. "There you go," as the fingers loosen from Steve's nape, "you just lie there," as the hand slides down over the prickling space between Steve's shoulder blades," and enjoy i--hh!" as Steve wrenches around, flinging a fist back into a hard belly, straining to see.

He catches a flashing glimpse, strange in shadows, of dangling dark bangs and smoky midnight eyes, a beautiful full mouth curved in a amusement and a finely cleft chin, before he's slammed facedown again by an implacable grip on both his biceps. "A hah!" puffs over Steve as he's pinned down tight, a solid weight settling between his shoulder blades, a broad hand palming his head. "Don't," he hears, as a rush of short hard thrusts punctuate the words, "you _ever_ give up?"

Steve has to unlock his gritted teeth at that, letting out one word. "No."

His assailant huffs, like he's out of words himself. Instead he nudges Steve's thighs apart that much further and sets about fucking him in earnest, achingly hard. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and clings to the mattress as he feels it all, the barely slicked pounding, the strong fingers caging his skull, his lungs' struggle under the pressure on his back, his whole frame shuddering under each thrust. He feels his body undeniably present around him, once again out of his control, feels himself clinging to the ragged edge. He just has to hang on a little longer --

With a frustrated growl, Steve's assailant grabs his hip and jerks his pelvis up and back and _oh God_ it's like a punch, a flurry of punches, delivered directly to that throbbing gland inside him, and Steve's dick twitches hard against coarse cloth, he distantly hears his own yelp beyond the roaring in his ears. 

"Gonna scream for me, sweet thing?" the intruder asks, voice reedy and hot, and Steve thrashes his head against the mattress in what he hopes looks something like disagreement. The blurring thrusts chafe up sensation in rising waves, too intense to disentangle pleasure from pain; a sharper twinge makes Steve shiver, a hot prickle makes him gasp, pressure builds behind his balls and under his lungs and above his eyes but he won't scream, not even if his body wants him to, he won't give that up. He can do this.

Even though his dick's bobbing up against his belly, disobediently full and heavy, even when broad fingers curl around it in a rough pull that drags a keen out of his battered depths. "C'mon, lemme hear you," his assailant croons, pushing Steve back into his thrusts, pulling tight strokes on Steve's dick, "C'mon, baby."

"Not," Steve gasps, from his tightening lungs, with all his tattered defiance, because he's himself and he can, "your fucking baby." 

"Yeah you are." The next thrust's a slam and Steve sees stars, arcing bright beneath his eyelids. "I caught you. You're mine."

"I'm not," Steve insists, even as his skin tingles and sparks, a deep twinge of pain spiking the pleasure just enough to tip him over, "I'm not yours, I'm nahhh..!!!" The last word slides into a long wail and Steve founders under the surge throbbing through his balls and crackling around the dick sunk inside him, He overflows into a scream as he spills over the fingers curled around him, glory and delight searing down his nerves.

"Oh _God_ ," gusts through his hair, warm as a kiss, as a final blur of thrusts rattles his spasming body until everything's shaken out but ecstasy. "Oh my God oh fuck oh _Stevie_." He can't help his noisy panting but he manages to listen to Bucky, whimpering softly as he comes hard, buried as deeply in Steve as he can get. Dripping and shivering and damn near floating, Steve puffs a little fake scream that tickles his throat, and Bucky laughs overhead, his real, sweet laugh, as he wobbles on his knees.

Just carefully enough, Bucky tips them onto their sides, wrapping his arm around Steve's heaving ribcage, his thigh slung across Steve's hips. For a little while they lie there, tucked bare back to smooth-shirted chest, so close they share the same shudders as they sink down to calm. Steve basks in contentment, savoring every twinge and ache and Bucky's every breath, letting the adrenaline drain out of him as he feels Bucky relax to ease.

Soon enough Bucky tugs his softening dick from Steve's body. It stings a bit, but Steve figures that goes with getting ridden so gorgeously hard. A few more slowing breaths and Bucky grunts, shifting his hips a bit: Steve could lie there all night under Bucky's sturdy warmth, but he hums an agreeable noise, granting Bucky permission to sit up and peel out of his clothes. 

Without Bucky blanketing him, cool air brushes Steve's back, its contrast highlighting all his sweet warm aches inside and out. There's a rustle and a thump and then Bucky swears frantically, jolting Steve out of his sated doze. "Buck?" he asks as he rolls over, taking his weight on his heels to spare his sore ass.

He finds Bucky glaring. "You asshole," Bucky almost-shouts, forefinger extended, "you're bleeding, why didn't you tap out?"

"Bleeding?" Steve peers over and can distinguish a dark smear along Bucky's dick and another across his thigh. "Oh c'mon, that's barely anything. I lost more blood last time I cut up carrots for soup."

" _Steve_." Bucky lands on his name hard enough to make him wince; he looks up at Bucky's face and they stare at each other a moment, until Bucky breaks into a helpless smile. "You asshole," he repeats, as Steve's about to point out until he follows it up with, "Tap out, yeah, like you'd ever," and pulls Steve in by his nape for a rough, delving, delicious kiss. "Stay right here," he orders while Steve's still breathless, lets go and gets up, pulling off his tee as he steps over his pants.

Steve's pretty sure he couldn't even walk right now, but he asks, "Or else what?" to underline who Bucky's with.

"Or you get no cake," Bucky calls from the hallway, just before water starts running. Steve flops down, pulls the pillow back from where it got knocked in the struggle, and hides his smile in it.

Soon enough Bucky returns to slide both arms under Steve, dislodging the pajama pants as he lifts him. Every time Bucky carries him Steve feels a vague outrage, sometimes not so vague, but today he can treat his best guy. He tucks his head under Bucky's chin, and Bucky drops a kiss on his hair and carries him across the hall into their proper bathroom with its soothing steamy air and deep tub full of hot water. He waits until Bucky has lowered him in, climbed in too, and arranged them both to his liking, Steve tucked between his legs and against his chest, chin in the water and shoulders wrapped in strong arms. Only then does Steve ask, "So how was dinner?"

Bucky takes a deep breath and blows it across the top of Steve's head. " _Dinner_ was great. The after-dinner discussion about how since Becca's getting married I should 'at least find a nice girl?' They even started up again with 'what about that English girl you work with at the SSR', kept staring at me the whole time, their eyes saying plain as day what they know full well and won't even mention." Having let all that out in a rush, Bucky sighs again, resting his cheek on Steve's hair.

Steve doesn't let himself sigh as well. "That 'nice girl' sent a telegram, she's doing fine," he says instead, "Estimates she'll be back in Brooklyn by this time next week."

"You'd better heal up double time, then," Bucky murmurs, "if Peg saw your ass right now she'd kick mine _through_ next week."

"Yes Sarge," Steve replies, "right away, Sarge," and enjoys the vibrating rumble of Bucky's subsurface laughter. 

A little more soaking, the hot water leaching away most of Steve's aches, Bucky's solid presence soothing all but one of the rest, until Bucky adds, "Ma packed up a dish and some cake for you, and Da send his regards. They do like you."

Last time Bucky said so, Steve replied that Bucky's parents figure that if necessary they could fit him into a wedding dress. Now he just rubs a wet hand across his face, then butts Bucky's cheek like an imperious cat, and Bucky kisses his ear and ostentatiously asks, "How's Cal?"

"He's great, he's been doing just fine," Steve murmurs. "Cut his hair, went straight, works at an art gallery in Chicago now, that's why he's in town. He offered to exhibit my drawings." Bucky breathes an amused chuckle over Steve's ear; these days, his art's taken a decidedly private turn. "After lunch he kissed me, said he'd wanted to do that since he first saw me."

"Think he wants to show off more than your sketches," Bucky teases, patting Steve's chest, and Steve snorts. "What do you think?"

There's a wistful note in Bucky's voice, so Steve makes sure to puff up his chest as he says, "I think I'm right where I wanna be. It's after midnight, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky agrees. Steve waits, but he doesn't elaborate on where he went between leaving his parents' place and coming home, how long he let himself simmer before climbing in their bedroom window.

So Steve goes on, taking a deep breath, mustering up enough courage for a few simple words. "Happy anniversary, Buck."

Bucky kisses his ear again, and Steve turns enough to look up into his smoky blue eyes. "Happy anniversary," Bucky tells him, settling a broad wet hand on his cheek, "my Stevie," and leans in for another tender kiss.


End file.
